


Bucklebury Faire: Summer 2000

by Thuri



Category: Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-23
Updated: 2004-03-23
Packaged: 2017-11-08 07:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thuri/pseuds/Thuri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merry likes Pippin.  Pippin likes Merry.  Merry is too shy to notice</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bucklebury Faire: Summer 2000

**Author's Note:**

> Whoa. Well. This is an AU, folks. Majorly AU. Because Merry and Pippin don't live in CA, and don't do Renaissance Faires. At least, not that I know of, and if they do I want in on it. It's also AU, in that there is no faire that lasts for three months, weekdays included. But since I'm playing God here, I went all out. If this goes over well . . . I have several hundred pages of an RP set in this universe to overhaul and possibly post. Thanks to [](http://sunhawkaerie.livejournal.com/profile)[**sunhawkaerie**](http://sunhawkaerie.livejournal.com/) for constant nagging while writing, and [](http://piratesorka.livejournal.com/profile)[**piratesorka**](http://piratesorka.livejournal.com/), for the lightening fast beta!

June 18, 2000  
Sunday  
6:15pm

 

"They broke up."

"Hello to you, too, Frodo," Merry said, raising an eyebrow as he struggled with the heavy canvas. "It _has_ been awhile. I'm fine, thanks for asking."

Frodo grinned, and came over to give him a hand, putting the tent pole in position and heaving up. "Hey. Sorry. Why're you so late? I expected you two weeks ago."

Merry shrugged, starting to pound in the first of over a dozen tent stakes. "They wouldn't give me the time off, even though they've known I needed it since I was hired last fall. So I quit."

Frodo, muffled in the canvas now, couldn't turn the full force of his glare on his younger cousin, as he wanted to. "You _quit_?! Just like that?"

"Yes," Merry answered calmly. He hadn't been calm, when he'd done it. Had been nervous, stammering more than usual, and not at all sure it was the right thing. But now that it was over . . . well, no more fast food for a while, at least. "I'm fine for the summer, after all. And I can find something that pays just as badly when I get back. You know that."

Frodo made a noncommital noise. "Are you almost done with those stakes?"

"Nearly. Be patient. And who broke up?"

"Hurry. It's hot under here. Pippin and Dia."

Merry swore silently, as he missed the stake and nearly bashed the sledgehammer into his foot. "R-r-really?" he asked, swearing, silently, again, as the stutter betrayed his interest. He'd meant to sound like he didn't care.

Frodo grinned. "Really," he affirmed. "And that's not all. Our little harper was asking me some interesting questions, these past few weeks."

Merry straightened, and stretched his back, the last tent stake firmly in place. "Oh?" he asked. "I'm done, by the way."

Frodo emerged from under the canvas, tying the front flap back and beginning to help Merry move all his stuff inside. "Yeah. _Very_ interesting questions. About me, about Sam. About being gay."

Merry dropped the bag he was holding on his foot, distantly glad it was only clothing. "A-a-about . . ." he trailed off.

Frodo hid his grin, this time, not wanting Merry to notice he was amused. "Apparently that's why he and Dia broke up. Well, that and she's a dyke now, too. Explains a lot about both of them, don't you think?"

Merry nodded numbly, retrieving the bag and tossing it on the tarp that formed the floor of his tent. "Always thought she wasn't right for him," he murmured, almost too softly to be heard. He shook his head, and found the large, battered rugs to spread out over the tarp, before he'd thrown too much stuff in the way. "Why are you telling me?"

Frodo managed to stop his laugh, as he helped Merry unroll the rugs, and slip one of them under the center pole. "I thought you might be interested to know that Pippin's free. Free, and into guys, and, if I'm any judge, very into you."

Merry blushed. "I somehow seriously doubt _that_ ," he replied, as they got the last of his stuff into the tent that would be his home for the next two and a half months. "I'm not sure he even remembers my name." That wasn't true, and he knew it. Pippin did know his name, knew quite a bit about him, though Merry hadn't encouraged him much in the three summers they'd spent doing faire together.

"Merry!" Frodo's tone was very disapproving. "He does so, and you know it. If you'd just talk to him . . ."

Merry concentrated on setting up his air mattress, ignoring Frodo, who'd sat on the floor and was staring at him. He sighed, after a moment, and looked at him. "Okay. He knows who I am. But I'm hardly in the running, even if he was looking for someone this summer. And he'll be on the rebound, and . . ." He shook his head, listening to the whine of the battery-operated pump.

"And what?" Frodo asked curiously.

"And it wouldn't be me, even if he wasn't," Merry finished. "He may know who I am, but we've hardly spent any time together, and I . . ." He blushed. "I . . ."

"You're afraid to talk to him," Frodo finished. "Even though he's a nice guy, who likes you and would be really good for you. You're too chicken shit to talk to him."

Merry's blush deepened. "Yeah," he agreed simply. "That's it. That, and that you're wrong, of course," he added, capping the full air mattress and turning off the pump. "Someone else will get him, and it'll be nice for them. But it won't be me, Frodo, we both know that."

Frodo shook his head again, frustrated. He loved Merry, loved him dearly, and hated that he did this to himself. But, though they'd known each other all their lives, he'd never found a way to convince his cousin that he was wrong. Maybe Pippin had more persistence. "I'm not going to spend the entire summer arguing with you, Mer. But I will say I told you so when it turns out I'm right."

"And I'll let you, as often as you like, since it won't happen," Merry replied easily, shucking his mundane clothes and finally, finally changing into garb. "Thanks for helping me set up. Thought I'd go mad, having to wait for faire to close for the day, to get in. I'm _never_ going to get here this late again."

"Good," Frodo said mildly. "We missed you. And don't give me crap about no one noticing you weren't here. Everyone noticed. And they've all been asking me. Legolas wants you to drum for him tonight, by the way, if you're awake enough. And probably during the performances, as well. I swear, our guild cannot keep a tempo on their own."

Merry grinned, though he was blushing to hear his absence had been noticed, as he laced up his boots again. "I'll be happy to, of course. Though maybe not tonight, as I'm dead from driving. I imagine I've got guild site duty for the next week, since I missed the past three?"

"As if you minded," Frodo said with a sigh, watching as Merry started to put his things in order. "You stay in the site all the time anyway. Unless you're off with me. And, frankly Mer, that can't happen as much this year." A faint blush stained Frodo's cheeks. "Sam and I . . ."

Merry smiled at him, though he felt a bit awkward. "I understand, Fro. You and Sam are going to want plenty of privacy. I'll be okay by myself. I'm used to it, after all," he added with a shrug.

Frodo stood, and gathered his younger cousin into a hug. "I wish you weren't, Mer. I know I can't convince you about Pippin, but . . . try? To find someone to keep you from being alone all summer?"

Merry shrugged again, though he returned the hug. "I'll try," he agreed, and knew he wouldn't.

 

June 19, 2000  
Monday  
7:55am

Morning came too early, and Merry resisted the urge to throw his small alarm clock across the tent. The canvas wouldn't break it, after all. Resisted the urge to hit the snooze button over and over for the next two hours, too. For one thing, the other people camped in the guild site might kill him, if he did. For another . . . well, he did actually want to _be_ up now. It was the getting up he had a problem with.

He groaned, pulling himself out of the nest of blankets on the air mattress, and scrubbed his face with both hands. Part of him was trying to argue that he should go back to sleep, that no one would mind if he started late today. Not after the long drive yesterday, all the work he'd been doing . . .

But no. He'd mind, even if the rest of the guild didn't. So he slipped a loose linen shirt on over the breeches he'd slept in, and buckled on his belt, checking to make sure he had money in his pouch. He threw on his cloak, against the morning fog and chill. Then went in search of tea.

He didn't have to go far. Not even to the food booths. Sam was setting up breakfast at the wooden bar in front of the inn. He saw Merry emerge from his tent, blinking and yawning, and called over to him.

"Mornin', Merry!" Sam said cheerfully. "Tea? Or coffee?"

Thinking dire thoughts about morning people, Merry stumbled over to the bar and plopped his mug down atop it. "Tea," he responded, slightly amazed he was coherent enough to answer. "Strong," he added. "Thank you."

Sam laughed, and dropped a tea bag in Merry's mug, pouring boiling water over it. "You're welcome. I'll have oatmeal ready in a bit, if you want some. Or are you heading to the booths?"

Merry shook his head, settling himself in one of the several period chairs scattered about the site. He pulled his cloak tight around him, and held the ceramic mug in both hands, warming them. "Oat–," a yawn broke apart his words, "oatmeal sounds wonderful," he finished. "If you've enough."

"Plenty. Even if I weren't cookin' for the guild, Frodo doesn't eat as much as he should, here at faire. But I'm fixing that."

Merry smiled, at the tone of fond exasperation in Sam's voice. "I'm sure you are," he agreed. He sat in silence for some time, relieved that Sam didn't feel a need to fill it. He never did, and it was one reason Merry felt comfortable with him.

Gradually, the rest of the guild members woke, and stumbled out of their own tents. Sam passed out coffee to nearly all, and oatmeal to those who wanted it. Merry took his bowl, and sat sipping the tea and eating, wondering how long it'd take him to actually wake up.

"Sam! Please tell me you're not out yet!"

The light, teasing voice made a shiver go up and down Merry's spine, and he felt himself blushing just from the sound of it.

Pippin Took bounded up, grin firmly in place, holding out a bowl to Sam with an adorable pout. "I'm hungry," he announced seriously. "Feed me?"

Sam laughed, and filled the bowl. He fell into easy conversation with the teenager, who pulled up another chair and ate there at the bar. To be closer for seconds, he said.

Merry watched, feeling that mixture of excitement and nervousness that seeing Pippin after a time apart always gave him. What was it, about this boy? He was younger, and, as far as Merry had known until now, straight. So why did he draw Merry's eye, make him feel even more awkward than normal, his tongue more clumsy?

Shaking his head slightly, Merry shed his cloak, the day grown too warm for it. Pippin's head turned at the movement, and he smiled widely. Merry wished fleetingly that he could've been the cause, but . . .

"Merry! You're here!" Pippin abandoned Sam, but not his food, and took a chair near him. "When did you get in?"

"H-hey, P-Pip-p-pin," Merry managed, face flaming. He . . . maybe he had been the reason Pippin smiled. But . . . "L-last-last night."

"I--We've missed you, Mer," Pippin said seriously. "I was afraid you weren't going to make it this year." He smiled, gently, and the butterflies in Merry's stomach went crazy.

"Al-almost didn't," he admitted, internally cursing the damned stutter. He smiled crookedly. "I-I'm glad I-I d-did."

Pippin grinned. "Me, too!"

Merry's blush deepened, and he couldn't manage a reply. He never could. He took a long drink of his tea, and stared down into his mug after, willing himself to talk. And failing.

Something flashed through Pippin's eyes, and he sighed a little. "I'll catch you later, right? You going to play for the performance this afternoon?"

Merry nodded.

"Later then, Mer." Pippin smiled, and squeezed his knee gently. "I'm happy you made it."

"M-me, too," Merry replied softly, risking a glance up and a small smile. "L-later."

He watched, as Pippin walked off, getting quickly drawn into another group, and sighed.

"Told you," came a cheerful voice from behind him, and Frodo plopped down into the chair Pippin had just abandoned.

"T-told me wh-what?" Merry asked, a bit sullenly.

Frodo sighed. "That he likes you. He does. And I know you like him, so don't try to pretend you don't."

"W-would I do-do that?"

"Yes," Frodo replied simply. "What is wrong with you, Merry?"

Merry looked into his mug again, but it didn't have the answers now any more than it had before. "I-I don't know," he admitted, the stutter gradually disappearing as he relaxed. "I just-just . . . can't see it, that's all."

 

July 2, 2000  
Sunday  
9:30pm

Two weeks passed, and Frodo only grew more frustrated. As did Pippin. Not that Merry knew this. At least, not about Pippin. Frodo's frustration he had reported to him quite often.

And Merry was starting to think Frodo might have had a point. About something, at least. Pippin, who had in previous years left him mostly alone when his attempts at conversation weren't received well, wouldn't stop talking to him. He was never rude, or pushy, quite the opposite, but Merry couldn't think why.

It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to Pippin, he did. Desperately. But every time he tried, he fell over his tongue, couldn't get the words out, and sounded like an idiot. It was easier, in the long run, to reply as quickly as he could to Pippin's questions, and not ask any of his own. It would hurt, he knew, when Pippin gave up, but . . . it would happen eventually anyway.

Merry was thinking on all of this, trying to convince himself to just do it. To just talk back the next time. He tossed a pebble into the small creek, relieved that this spot was fairly private. He could hear the sounds of the others around the fire, the sounds of singing, and occasionally of Pippin's harp.

Lucky, that the guild site backed up on the creek. That he could sneak down here, be by himself, without anyone really noticing. Well, almost anyone, he thought ruefully, as Frodo made his way over and sat beside him. He handed over a large bottle of rum.

"Here. You look like you need it. What's wrong, this time?"

Merry took a long pull. "What's ever wrong?"

"You don't have to be lonely, you know," Frodo said conversationally. "You could be up there right now, joining in."

"And sounding like a fool every time I opened my mouth," Merry countered. "Frodo, you've known me all my life. How likely is it, that I'd be up there?"

"I know. But . . ." Frodo shrugged, and took the bottle back. "You do faire for fun, Mer. And you haven't seemed to be having any, these past couple weeks. Why are you here?"

Merry sighed, accepting the bottle when Frodo handed it to him. "You mean down here by myself? Or at faire at all?"

"Either. Both."

Merry didn't answer for a time, turning the bottle back and forth in his hands. "This is probably a bad idea," he said, drinking again. "Especially considering how much Guinness I've had today. I'm going to be a pretty pathetic drunk right now."

Frodo shrugged. "Fine by me. You've been being fairly pathetic sober recently."

Grimacing, Merry passed the bottle back. "Okay, I deserved that. I'm down here, because I wanted time to think. I'm at faire, because . . ." His lips twitched. "It's the only place I feel at home, even if I'm not really at home here, either. If that makes any sense." He sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"Moving out has been hard on you, hasn't it?" Frodo asked gently.

"Yeah. At least, living at home, I talked to Mom and Dad all the time." Merry shook his head. "Frodo, there are days now I don't talk to _anyone_. Anyone at all. And . . ." He grimaced again. "Stuttering's getting worse. Not around you, yet, but . . ."

"I'd noticed," Frodo said, his voice still gentle. "Do you know why?"

Merry shrugged. "Fewer people around I actually feel comfortable with. I've never been any good at making friends, and now . . ." He sighed. "You've heard how long it takes me to say hello. Who's gonna stick around for that?" He smiled wryly. "You know how I make it worse for myself, when I get nervous? Well, I'm nervous a lot. How can I possibly make a decent f-first impression, wh-when . . ." He stopped. "I don't even get called on in classes. Not more than once, anyway."

Frodo rubbed his back. "Mer, you've got to stop worrying so much. No one cares. No one that matters, at any rate, and the rest aren't worth it. You're smart, you're funny, and we're all willing to take the time to hear what you have to say. Don't you know that?"

This coconut rum was dangerous, Merry decided distantly, as he actually answered. "I care. I'd like to stop worrying about it, but . . ."

"I know." Frodo shook his head. "But Mer . . . this sounds harsh, I know, but it doesn't matter if you care. Or rather, it does, but not to the rest of us." He squeezed Merry's shoulder. "We just want to spend time with you. Pippin's asking where you've got to."

Merry bit his lip. "R-really?"

"Really. He likes you, Mer. He's all but throwing himself at you. I don't know how even you could have missed that."

"I-I . . . I wish I could believe you."

Frodo raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Are you finally admitting you like him, too?"

Merry nodded miserably. "Of course I do, Fro. I've . . . I've liked him for years. But . . . it's not like anything'll happen, right?"

"It will, if you do something about it," Frodo countered. "Merry, he likes you. He is trying, harder than anyone should have to, to talk to you, to get to know you. I'm frankly surprised he hasn't given up yet, as little encouragement as you've given him. I would have. You aren't always so kind to him, you know."

Merry blushed. He knew it was true. He was often short with Pippin, but . . . "Why w-would he like _me_?"

Frodo rolled his eyes. "Times like this, I've no clue. But Mer, when you aren't being an ass, you are an incredible person. And, despite all you do to hide it, Pippin's noticed."

A soft smile crossed Merry's face. Pippin had noticed him. And did try to talk to him, so often. Maybe . . . "Maybe you're right."

 

July 3, 2000  
Monday  
9:04am

Merry woke with a groan, acid in his throat, a taste in his mouth like something had died, and a head full of stabbing pain. Shit. He must have drunk more than he'd thought. A lot more.

It wasn't easy, to pull himself up and take the trek to the privy, to relieve the pressure on his bladder. Somehow, he made it. And was only partly comforted that there were plenty others in the same state as he was.

He begged tea from Boromir, who had breakfast duty this morning, and retreated back to his tent, to make a valiant attempt to be human by opening. Merry didn't think he'd be too likely to make it, though, considering he had less than an hour. Oh well.

Apparently, he had been noticed, too. Frodo ducked through the tent flap, an indulgent grin on his face. "You don't look so hot, Mer," he remarked, with a small grin.

"I don't feel so hot," Merry replied, glaring at him over the rim of his mug. "And I seem to remember that being your fault. Am I right?"

"You don't remember for sure?" Frodo asked, raising an eyebrow. "You do remember our conversation, don't you?"

Merry bit his lip. "Uh, vaguely?"

"Only vaguely?" Frodo shook his head. "Then you aren't going to admit now that I'm right about Pippin, are you?"

"That you're _what_?" Merry winced, at the loudness of his own voice. "Why would I admit that?"

Frodo sighed, and repeated the conversation of the night before. The highlights, anyway. By the time he'd finished, Merry was shaking his head. "But you know what, Mer?"

"What?" Merry asked warily.

"I don't care if you believe he wants you or not. He's trying to be your friend, even you can't deny that. And you don't have enough friends to keep pushing him away." Frodo just looked at him for a second. "Mer, you're my cousin and you know I love you. But snap out of it. Stop pushing him away. You're hurting him, you're hurting yourself. And I can't keep doing this."

"I . . ."

"I'm sure," Frodo said with a sigh. "Get it together, Mer." He left the tent, with a final glance back.

Merry shook, at the pity in his cousin's eyes. Frodo was right. Maybe not about Pippin throwing himself at Merry, but . . . He was trying to be a friend. Was trying to get to know him, and yet Merry kept pushing him away.

Why? What would be so bad, if he did talk to Pippin? That he stuttered? He did that anyway. At least then . . . then maybe it'd get better. He didn't stutter, much, around Frodo or Sam now. And what if he could get comfortable enough with Pippin that he did stop?

It might be worth it, Merry thought dully. Worth the beginning embarrassment, to have someone else he could actually talk to. It wasn't like Pippin didn't already know he stuttered. And yet . . . Merry smiled softly to himself. Pippin had never mentioned it. Not once. But had never tried to finish his sentences, to hurry him along, either. Had, in fact, always patiently listened until he could finish.

"What's the worst that could happen?" Merry muttered to himself, drinking the dregs of his tea. "That he'll stop talking to me? I'm surprised he hasn't already."

Fine then. The next time Pippin talked to him, he'd talk back. And Gods help him, if Frodo turned out to be right. Because he'd never hear the end of it.

 

2:14pm

He got his chance that very afternoon. The remains of his hangover had kept him, if anything, quieter than usual, but then the guild site itself was fairly quiet. It was a Monday, after all, and faire was always close to deserted on Mondays. He'd spent most of the day half hidden in the shadows of the site, working on a pair of bracers, to match his faire boots. Just because he'd decided to talk to Pippin didn't mean he'd gained the guts to go and find him.

But Pippin found him, as was often the case. He approached Merry, who was leaning back against a chest, and smiled. "Hey, Merry. How's it going? Are you feeling better than this morning"

This was it. Merry took a deep breath, and nodded. "Y-yeah. Sh-shouldn't have l-let Fr-Frodo pick the-the drinks, I g-guess," he said ruefully.

Pippin laughed. "Uh oh. What'd he get you with?"

"C-coconut rum. A-after I'd b-been drinking G-Guinness on my-my own," Merry replied, smiling a little. "A l-lot of Guinness."

Pippin shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "No wonder you looked like death warmed over this morning."

Merry nodded again. "N-not s-something I'd-I'd recommend." He squinted, looking up, then sighed. "Are y-you going to s-sit? Or just-just tower ov-over me?"

A surprised, and happy smile spread across Pippin's face, and he dropped to the ground, sitting cross-legged. "What're you working on?"

"B-bracers," Merry answered, handing over the nearly finished one in his hands. "I-I want-wanted something t-to match my b-boots, but c-couldn't find it."

Pippin turned it over and over, and whistled softly. "You're good," he said simply, handing it back.

Merry blushed. "Th-thanks," he said softly, turning his attention back to the stitching for a moment. But, instead of falling completely silent as he would have earlier, he screwed up his courage and opened his mouth. "Y-you're d-done with sc-school now, aren't you?"

Pippin's smile widened. "Yep. Free at last, free at last, thank the gods, I'm free at last!" He grinned. "Well, until fall and college. But no more high school."

Merry returned the grin. It was, well, easier than he'd expected to keep talking. Even if he did feel nervous. "N-nice feeling, huh? And-and c-college is s-s-so m-m-mu– is way b-better."

"So I've heard," Pippin said, nodding. "I'm looking forward to it. Especially now," he added, face darkening for just a moment.

"Oh?"

Pippin gave a lopsided grin. "My high school wasn't exactly gay friendly. More fundamentalist Christian friendly."

Merry shuddered sympathetically. "I-I know h-how that-that works," he said softly. "Wh-when'd you c-come out?"

"About three months ago," Pippin said, wry grin still firmly in place. "So I didn't have to deal with it for very long or anything."

"S-still s-s-sucks." Merry shrugged. "Th-though t-two y-years was p-pretty bad."

"Two years? _In_ high school?" Pippin whistled again. "Whoa. I'm impressed."

"By wh-what?"

"That you were out that soon. That you knew that soon. No awkward high school girlfriends for you, then?"

Merry shook his head with a smile. "N-not really. W-w-well, o-one, b-but . . ." He blushed furiously.

Pippin merely smiled. "I only had the one, too," he said ruefully.

"I-I'm sorry y-you broke up. D-Dia's really n-nice." Merry was lying through his teeth, and knew it. Not that Dia wasn't nice, she was, very. But he could hardly tell Pippin his actual reaction to the news that they'd split.

Pippin blushed a little. "She is. And if she was a guy, or I was a girl, it might've worked out. But . . ." He shrugged. "It was a mutual decision, to end it. In case the rumor mill hasn't gotten that particular detail in," he added with a grin.

Merry laughed. "I-It has. Or, at l-least, F-Frodo m-mentioned th-that you're b-both gay. S-so I-I figured."

Pippin pulled his knees up and set his chin on them, watching as Merry stitched the two layers of leather together. "You figured right. Um, Merry?"

"Hmm?"

Pippin shook his head, smiling softly. "Never mind. How'd you learn to do that?"

 

July 17, 2000  
Monday  
3:45pm

It wasn't the last time. And each conversation grew a bit easier. At least, in that he got more used to talking to Pippin. But . . . Merry fell harder for him each time. Pippin was . . . was incredible. Was everything Merry had hoped he was. So, gradually, the stutter became less about talking to someone he barely knew, and more about talking to someone he really, really liked.

Frodo had yet to say he'd told him so, but then Merry had yet to see evidence that Pippin really returned his interest. And for now, it was enough that he was turning into a friend.

Or so Merry kept telling himself. Being friends should've been enough. He should have been happy with it. But he wasn't. Watching Pippin, as they spoke, the way his eyes sparkled when he laughed, the easy way he'd reach out and touch Merry's hand, his arm, and the resulting rush of excitement his touch caused . . . all these had Merry wanting much more than friendship.

But how? He couldn't flirt, never had been able to, as shy as he was. It was all he could do, sometimes, to simply _talk_ to Pippin, though that was growing easier. And . . . he had no clear indication that his feelings were returned. Pippin could flirt, did it as easily as breathing, and with everyone. Merry couldn't know, if it meant something more, when Pippin teased him gently, when he called him ‘darling,' or ‘sweetie' or any of the other pet names that he lavished on everyone.

And Merry couldn't do the same, hard as he tried. He could find no way to speak the words, to show how he felt. He feared the possible rejection in Pippin's eyes too much. For, now that he had him as a friend, he didn't want to lose that, if Pippin discovered his crush and didn't return his feelings. Frodo said he was a fool for it, that Pippin wouldn't turn away from him, even if he didn't feel the same, which ‘he so obviously did, Merry and what are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?'

Merry smiled a little ruefully, thinking of Frodo, as he settled himself in a corner of the guild site, bodhran in hand. The afternoon was quiet, and he had it to himself, no duties, nowhere he needed to be. So he planned to play for a bit, to experiment with a jig he'd heard the night before, when the Scots had descended on their fire en mass.

Alone, and relatively unnoticed, Merry lost himself quickly in finding the rhythms, in coaxing the beat out of his fingers, out of the drum.

 

Pippin sighed heavily, throwing himself back on his air mattress with a curse. What was he doing wrong? He'd been practically throwing himself at Merry for weeks, and . . . nothing. Well, he admitted to himself, not exactly nothing. Merry talked to him now. Even teased back a bit, and didn't blush with every word he spoke. But . . . he still didn't make any kind of move.

And he had to. To do it first. Pippin had decided _that_ before faire even started this year. He knew he wanted Merry, wanted him badly, but he had to be sure Merry felt the same. He was so quiet, so shy, that Pippin couldn't risk him simply agreeing, when it might not be what he wanted. So Pippin would wait. Be patient. As he had been, ever since he first met Merry three years ago, and decided the older boy was worth getting to know.

He sighed again, running hands through his hair and making the curls even wilder than usual. But the sound of drumming brought him out of his thoughts. Quick, sprightly, a dancing tune if ever he'd heard one. And it was close, probably in the guild site by the nearness of it. Which would mean that, in all likelihood, it was Merry, the only drummer in the guild. A mischievous grin spread across Pippin's face, and he rolled off the bed, grabbing his harp and going in search of the sound.

It _was_ Merry. But a Merry Pippin had never seen before. This Merry had a wicked grin on his face, as his fingers twisted deftly, his whole manner confident, assured. Pippin sank to a nearby hay bale, setting his harp down, and finding he, too, was grinning, tapping his foot along and wishing he could dance. Would have, if he weren't sure that it would break Merry's concentration. And Pippin was enjoying this new side of him too much to disturb it.

 

Merry came back to himself, grinning widely. He'd nailed it. Remembered the variations, thrown in a few of his own, and fucking nailed it.

Soft applause made him look up in surprise, then blush rosily, when he saw Pippin sitting close by. "How-how long have you been sitting th-there?" he asked, setting the bodhran and tipper down, shaking out his hands.

"Long enough," Pippin laughed. "You're really good, Merry! Why don't you play by yourself more?"

Merry shrugged, though he smiled at Pippin's compliments. "Not m-much call for-for it. B-bodhran's not really a solo instrument," he explained.

"Should be, the way you play it," Pippin countered. "But, if you want to play with someone else . . ." He grinned again. "Ever jammed with a harper?"

 

8:34pm

"Frodo, I'll be twenty-one in three days. And you're the one who got me drunk last month. What's the big deal?"

Frodo eyed his cousin. "Why do you want it?"

Merry rolled his eyes. "Because Sam's Irish creme is famous. Because I haven't had any yet this summer. Because," he blushed, "Because I told Pippin I'd get some and share it with him tonight."

Frodo laughed. "Why didn't you say so in the first place? You and Pippin seem to be getting along quite well," he added, digging in the cooler and coming up with a tall glass bottle, stoppered with a cork. "Are you finally going to tell him how you feel?"

Merry blushed a little. "I don't–yes. That's the plan. Why do you think I want the Irish creme?"

Laughing again, Frodo handed the bottle over and pulled Merry into a hug. "Don't worry, Mer. By this time tomorrow, I'll be saying I told you so. And, even if I'm wrong, Pippin is not going to freak out or anything. After all, it's flattering to find out someone has a crush on you. But I'm not wrong."

"Yeah, well, I hope not," Merry said with a smile. He hefted the bottle, and sighed. "Here goes nothing. Don't wait up."

Despite his light words, Merry had rarely felt so nervous as he left the tent. He'd decided, after playing with Pippin this afternoon, that he couldn't wait any longer. He had to do something, to know. Because . . . a soft smile crossed his face as he remembered. They'd meshed together so well, following each others' lead, the instruments speaking together easily and well. He'd never experienced that kind of connection before, with anyone. And somehow . . . somehow being honest with Pippin, telling him how he felt . . . it didn't seem that hard now. Not after he'd been touched that deeply by his playing.

So it was with mixed apprehension and anticipation that Merry approached the old playground. Left over from when the faire site had been a public park, it was the usual structure of slides and ladders, a bridge connecting the two halves. A fairly new one, too, made mostly of chunky plastic, and plastic-covered metal. No burns from hot slides, or splinters from exposed beams here, Merry thought with a rueful grin, remembering the jungle gyms of his own childhood.

Now, the jungle gym belonged to the small children of faire participants during the day, and was mostly deserted at night. Merry had gone there many times, to watch the stars and be by himself, but had invited Pippin to join him often these past few weeks. And now . . . the moon was nearly full, shining on the battered playground equipment, on the sand still scattered at its base. And on Pippin, already there, sitting in the middle of the bridge with his legs hanging over the edge.

Merry lifted the bottle over his head as he approached, and laughed at Pippin's exclamation of joy. "You got it!"

Merry handed the bottle up, then climbed the ladder and joined Pippin. "‘Course I did. Th-there are perks to b-being the cousin of the lover of the m-man who makes it."

Pippin giggled. "However you managed, I'm glad. Let's go up to the top of the slide, so no one will see and we won't have to share."

"Greedy," Merry teased, following Pippin.

"Oh, I am. Completely." Pippin settled himself in the small tower like affair at the top of the big slide. He popped the cork and took a long pull. "I find something this good, I definitely don't want to share it."

Merry grinned as Pippin handed the bottle over. "Y-you're sharing it with m-me," he pointed out.

"Couldn't have gotten it without you, so you don't count," Pippin replied, leaning his head back against the plastic wall and looking up at the sky. "Pretty out tonight," he observed.

Merry licked a drop of Irish creme from his lips, watching Pippin, lit by moonlight. "Yes," he murmured, heart suddenly thumping in his chest. "It is."

Pippin smiled softly, bitter sweetly. "Reminds me of the time I was up here last summer."

"Oh?" Merry asked, taking another drink as Pippin passed the bottle back.

"Yeah. Dia and Stel, and a couple of their friends from another guild were here, singing love songs. They were all in the same choir," he explained, when Merry raised an eyebrow. "Well, and Dia and Stel are together now," Pippin added with a laugh.

Merry smiled, handing him the bottle. "Wh-why's this remind you?"

"The moonlight. The ill-gotten alcohol, though we didn't have anything nearly as good as this." Pippin shrugged, taking a drink. "Company's better now, though," he added, with a grin.

Merry blushed. "Th-thank you."

They were silent for a few moments, staring up at the moon, at the few stars bright enough to shine against its light. Then Pippin started singing, softly.

_Wise men say only fools rush in  
But I can't help falling in love with you_

Merry shivered, slightly, as he started. He knew this song, knew it well. And if only . . . if only . . .

_Shall I stay? Would it be a sin?  
If I can't help falling in love with you?_

Pippin's voice was soft, but true, as he continued, seeming unaware of what he was doing to Merry.

_As a river flows, surely to the sea.  
Darling, so it goes. Some things were meant to be  
Take my hand, take my whole life, too.  
For I can't help falling in love with you._

Could . . . could he mean it? But he'd said the girls had been singing love songs, likely that was all it was. Just a memory, of his ex-girlfriend. Nothing more. Merry risked a glance, and was transfixed by the expression on Pippin's face. And he suddenly didn't care what it meant, he just didn't want it to end.

_As a river flows, surely to the sea.  
Darling, so it goes. Some things were meant to be  
Take my hand, take my whole life, too.  
For I can't help falling in love with you.  
No, I can't help falling in love with you._

Pippin let the last note linger, and die off, opening his eyes to meet Merry's with a smile.

Never, in later years, could Merry say what it was that gave him the courage. But when Pippin's eyes met his, when he smiled at Merry that way . . . Merry leaned forward, one hand tangling in the loose curls at the back of Pippin's neck, and pressed his lips against Pippin's in a soft kiss.

One that didn't stay soft for long, as their mouths opened, and their tongues quickly became involved. Pippin pulled away finally, licking his lips, an incredulous expression on his face. "Merry . . ."

Merry blushed furiously, and opened his mouth to stammer an apology. He'd been wrong, of course he had, and now . . . "I-I'm s-s-sor . . ."

"You had better not be apologizing," Pippin said, raising an eyebrow. "I've been trying to get you into this position for _weeks_."

"I . . ."

"You are so _silly_ sometimes, Merry Brandybuck," Pippin said, shaking his head. And kissed him again.


End file.
